City of Mirrors (12 page)

I
t was about eight o'clock when Celia dropped me off. The paparazzi had disappeared, thank God. Drained, I unlocked my front door and walked into the dark living room. The TV in the kitchen was still repeating the news over and over like an idiot savant. Reaching for the lamp switch by the sofa, I felt cold damp air and the ocean sounded louder. The sliding glass door was open—but I hadn't left it that way.

I jerked my hand back from the light switch, leaving the room unlit. Not moving, I listened in the darkness. After a few moments I heard a drawer slam shut in my bedroom. Shaking, I crept across the room and grabbed one of Colin's Oscars. The sound of heavy scuffling footsteps came down the hallway.

Ducking out through the open sliding-glass door onto the deck, I pressed back against the side of the house and held the award upside down, ready to swing the heavy base at the intruder. I was breathing hard, as if I'd been running.

Peeking through glass into the living room, I watched the shadowy figure of a large man emerge from the bedroom. I ducked back out of sight, trying to decide what to do. I could go to Ryan's for help, but he'd probably be drunk and useless. I still had my purse on my shoulder. As I fumbled inside for my cell phone, the light in the living room went on, illuminating the deck. I froze until I realized the intruder couldn't see me. Carefully leaning toward the open door, I peered in.

Ryan Johns was bent over my side table, rifling through the drawer. What the hell was he doing? He straightened up, running a freckled hand over his face. He turned and eyed the bookcase next to the fireplace. Rushing to it, he began pulling out books, opening the plastic cases of CDs and DVDs.

I slipped into the room as quiet as one of my ghosts on the mantel. “What are you looking for, Ryan?”

At the sound of my voice, he almost leapt out of his Uggs. “Jesus, Diana, you scared the shit out of me.”

“What are you doing in my house? No! Not just in my house, but searching through it like a burglar?” I dropped my purse on the floor.

He nervously wiped his hands on his gray faded T-shirt, which said:
peace me
. “You should let me buy you a security alarm that works. I mean, anybody could break in.”

“Ryan!”

“Looking for a disc.”

All my sadness, fear, rejection, and anger burst to the surface in one perfect rage. “You want my CDs? Here!” I strode over to the shelves. With the Oscar still in one hand, I began picking up the square plastic cases with the other and hurling them at him.

“I can explain. Ouch! That hurt!” He weaved and ducked from the onslaught. Grabbing one of the sofa cushions, he held it up in front of him. “Stop it, Diana. Stop it!”

Running out of discs, I took my heels off and threw them at him one by one.

When the barrage finished, he peered over the edge of the cushion at me. “Are you finished?”

“Yes,” I gasped.

He dropped the cushion he'd been using as a shield onto the sofa. Instantly, I threw the Oscar. He screamed as it sailed past, barely missing his head, and bounced off the wall behind him, leaving a dent. It landed hard on the floor. “You could've killed me and look what you did to Colin's Oscar.” He picked it up and blew the dry-wall dust off its little gold pate.

“I've had it, Ryan! I don't think I can take any more. Tell me what you're doing here, or I'm calling the police!”

“Oh, God, Diana, don't do that. You know me. I'm an honest man. I wouldn't have broken into your house unless … unless …” He fell onto the sofa, the Oscar still in his hands. “I'm in trouble.”

“Go on.” I slammed the sliding glass door closed and locked it.

His mouth went slack. “I'm a dead man if I don't find it. A dead man.”

“Find what?” I grabbed the Oscar from him and returned it to the mantel.

“Would you believe me if I said I don't want you involved in any of this? Can we just leave it at that?”

“You don't want me involved, yet you're in my house searching for something. That makes me think I'm already involved.”

He stared guiltily down at his knobby knees. “I didn't know Jenny was Parson's daughter when I… .” He drooped back against the sofa, letting his legs splay out.

“When you what?” I sat down next to him.

“I thought she was a hooker. I was drunk. It was dark. I was taken somewhere, and she was there. Waiting for me, like I was told she would be. Naked, beautiful.”

“You paid to have sex with Jenny Parson?” My mind was reeling.

“I tried to pay up front. But she said afterwards was fine.” He sat up, suddenly righteous. “That should've been a dead giveaway. You always pay up front.”

“What did you do?”

“What do you mean, what did I do? I thought she was a hooker! When it was over and I was fumbling for my pants and my wallet, she told me to put my money away. Then she got up and seemed to literally disappear into the darkness of this vast room. I heard a man's voice. I thought she was talking with the guy who had brought me there. Then she returned still naked with a nifty Canon camera and showed me the video of the two us
in flagrante delicto
. I can't believe how clear she and I looked in the dimly lit room. It's a great little camera with HD …”

“Ryan!”

“Sorry. She told me who she was and that she would show the video to her father if I didn't pay her three hundred thousand dollars.”

“Jenny Parson was blackmailing you? And you owed her father money, too? I can't believe this.”

“
You
can't believe it.”

“Parson had me taken to his yacht in Santa Barbara this morning.”

He shifted uneasily. “What did he want with you?”

“I discovered Jenny's body, remember?”

“He didn't say anything about her and me, did he?”

“No. He just said he wasn't worried about you paying him back. Why do you owe him money?”

“Diana, that's not the problem right now.”

“You said Jenny threatened you with showing her father the video. Do you think she knew about the money you were supposed to pay him?”

“I don't know. I don't know anything. Except if I don't find that CD and destroy it before it goes viral and Parson sees it, he'll have me killed.”

“Wait a minute. Why would you think I have it?”

“Last night you said you talked to her alone in her trailer. People trust you. They talk to you. I thought she might've given it to you for safekeeping without telling you what it was. I had no place else to look. I can't get into her condo or her car. The police put those off limits.”

“Why would you assume she made just one disc? And even if she did, the memory card could still be in her camera. You should be looking for both.” I got up and went into the kitchen and turned the light on and the TV off. Then I opened the freezer and took out a low-cal fettuccini Alfredo dinner and put it in the microwave.

Hands clasped on top of his head, Ryan stood in the doorway. “How can you eat at a time like this?”

“I'm hungry.” I was also trying to think. To put pieces together. But there were so many that I didn't know where to begin.

“I need a drink.”

I gestured to the cupboard that held the hard stuff, then opened the refrigerator, grabbed a bottle of white wine, and poured myself a large glass. Ryan filled a water glass with whiskey. The microwave beeped and I grabbed my food with a potholder and dumped it on a plate. It looked like puke. Then I sat down at the kitchen table and began to eat.

Drink in hand, Ryan sat opposite me. “What is that?” Disgusted, he peered at my plate.

“Swill.”

“Diana, you need to get a life.” He took a long gulp.

“
I
need to get a life? Life is crashing down on me. The latest is I'm off the movie.” I shoved a forkful of fettuccini into my mouth and chewed, glaring at him.

“That's fucked. Was it Jake Jackson?”

I swallowed and ignored the question. “You have a perfect motive for killing Jenny.”

He straightened as if jolted by a shot of electricity. “What?”

“You didn't think of that?”

“No. No. I didn't. Oh, God, I'm
fucked
. If this gets out, Parson will have me killed. That is, if the police don't arrest me first. You're right, I'm the perfect suspect.” He slopped more booze into his mouth.

“Where were you the night she was murdered?”

“I don't know when she was killed.”

“Night before last, around twelve-thirty in the morning, or at least that was when she drove into her condo garage.”

“I was home. Asleep on my deck. I have the sunburn to prove it.” He displayed the peeling skin on his arms. “
You
left me out there.”

I thought about staggering down the beach to Celia's house. I did see Ryan asleep. “I saw you, but I'm not sure of the exact time.”

“What are you saying? You don't think I killed her, do you?”

Instead of answering, I washed down another mouthful with my wine.

“Do you think I'd tell you what I did with Jenny, if I were her murderer?” he demanded, indignantly. “Give me credit for being a little smarter than that. I write movies about these things, for God's sake.”

“I don't know who to believe anymore.” I stared down at my almost-empty plate. I wanted to lick it. “Parson told me he knew Colin. Why would he know him?”

Ryan dropped his head so his forehead touched the rim of his glass. “A lot of us writers and actors would go up to Santa Barbara and hang out with Parson.” He raised his head and looked at me. “It was sort of like hanging out with someone like Hugo Chavez when he was alive. You know, mixing it up with the bad guys that can't really hurt you. Or so I thought.”

“How could he hurt Colin?”

“I don't think he could. Colin went once while you were away on location. You can't trust Parson. He could just be saying that he had something on him to gain control over you.”

“I'm going to ask you again. Why do you owe him money?”

“That's my business,” he said with a strength I didn't know he had.

“You'd protect Colin, wouldn't you?”

He glanced away from me. “He had everything: two Oscars and you.”

“Oh, Ryan.” I put my hand on his. “Are you protecting him now?”

“I have no need to.”

Unsure, I got up and put my plate in the sink and poured myself more wine.

“Do you know if they found a camera in Jenny's condo?” Ryan asked.

“I didn't see one, but that doesn't mean there wasn't one. Spangler wouldn't tell me if they did find it.”

“Spangler?”

“The homicide detective on the case. Has anyone from the police contacted you?”

“No.”

“Maybe the camera wasn't hers. Maybe someone else has it.” I leaned back against the sink and took a sip. “Jenny didn't need money. Why would she blackmail you?”

“How do I know? I'm just an innocent bystander. If they find that camera, I'm going to be implicated. I could even be arrested. Thank God we live in a community that doesn't look down on things like this.” He actually looked earnest.

Ryan didn't exactly have a fully working moral compass. Did any of us?

“You may not be the only desperate person they recorded.” I wondered whether Beth Woods had been taped also.

“You're right. There could be others.” He brightened. “Others that had a reason to kill her besides me.”

“Who took you to meet Jenny?” I asked

“I'm not sure. He didn't give me his name.”

“Where were you taken?”

“A house.”

“You can remember the camera that was used but not who drove you or where you had sex?”

“Let me think. There was a sofa in this big empty living room. She was lying on it. Spooky but exciting.”

I tensed. “A purple velvet sofa?”

“I wasn't looking at the fabric. I was looking to get laid.”

“Was the house in Bel Air?”

“Could be. I was drunk. I wasn't paying attention to where I was being taken or who was taking me. This guy just kept talking about how hot she was and how ready she was for me.”

“Did the house have an indoor swimming pool?”

“Yeah! I remember he had to unlock a side door, and then we walked around the pool and into the house.” He frowned. “How did you know?”

“Lucky guess.” The fettuccini felt like a block of cement in my stomach.

“Have you been there? Are you being blackmailed too?”

“I lived there with my mother for a while when I was a teenager.”

“I don't understand.”

“How did you get home from Bel Air?”

“The same guy. And the only thing he said to me was, ‘Jenny means it.' And then he dropped me off at my car.”

“How were you supposed to get her the money?”

“He'd contact me.”

“Did he?”

He nodded. “Two weeks ago. He phoned. He told me on a certain day at a certain time to put the cash in an envelope, then put it in my mailbox and leave the house.”

“And did you?”

“Yes. And when I came back the cash was gone.”

“And what did you get for that in return?”

“Their silence.”

“Oh, Christ, Ryan.”

Desperate, he asked, “What do you think?”

“I think you're a dead man.”

“Oh, God.” He rocked back and forth on his chair like a child. “Oh, God.” Then he abruptly stopped and glared at me. “You're extraordinarily calm about all this.”

“I've just seen two dead bodies. I've lost my part in Zaitlin's movie. And I'm angry.” I paused. “Do you know a Zackary Logan?”

He shook his head. “Who is he?”